Heaven
by TooManyWhatIfs
Summary: Dean tries his best to cope with loss. Destiel human AU. Major character death. My contribution to Destiel week.


Dean looked around the small apartment. He looked at the kitchen counters and imagined them covered in flour when Cas had tried baking for the first time. He looked at the small couch in the living room and remembered the nights they had spent falling asleep watching some crappy TV show. He looked out onto the balcony and thought back to the night they had moved in. When they had sat outside for hours simply staring at the stars and wondering how they had made it this far. He remembered looking into Cas' eyes and knowing that he would never feel more at home anywhere else.

These were the things that Dean would remember about Cas for the rest of his life. He would never remember the horrible nights spent at Castiel's bedside, hoping, praying, while watching him waste away. He wouldn't remember the day when he was told there was nothing they could do, that Cas would never wake up.

Dean picked up his glass and took a swig. He walked slowly to the couch, taking the bottle with him, and flopped down. He laid back and filled his glass again. He emptied it and then decided to remove the middleman and began drinking straight from the bottle. He heard the phone ring and closed his eyes. He knew who it would be and he also knew that he didn't want to speak to anyone right now. If Sam wanted to know how he was, he would have to come over. Not that Dean would answer the door though.

He shifted on the couch and felt something dig into his leg. He sat up and reached between the cushions to find the offending object. When he brought his hand back up, he was holding a pair of glasses. Castiel's glasses. Dean's breath was knocked out of him. Part of him wanted to scream and another wanted to cry. Part of him wanted to throw the glasses across the room and watch them shatter into a thousand pieces and another wanted to put them in his pocket and never let any harm come to them.

It had been two months but this still happened occasionally. He would find something that had belonged to Cas and he wouldn't know what to do. He could never let himself cry but he couldn't pretend he was okay. He was stuck in the middle of somewhere, drinking himself to sleep every night. He would never answer the phone and the only time he ate was when Sam came over and forced him to. He was running out of excuses for not turning up for work. His bereavement period was over but he still hadn't returned. His boss had called him on several occasions but Dean had let the machine pick it up. He didn't understand it anyway. How could they tell him he had a certain amount of time to grieve and to mourn but as soon as that was over, he was supposed to be fine?

He couldn't even walk into his own bedroom without feeling the aching stab in his chest, how was he supposed to go to work and continue living when he had nothing left to live for? That night, Dean drank until he passed out again.

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. The sunlight streaming in through the windows made his eyes and his head hurt and the very loud knocking didn't help matters.

"Dean! I know you're home so you better open this door or I'll kick it open!" Dean heard Sam's voice, slightly muffled due the door in the way. He knew better than to underestimate his younger brother and so made his way to the door. Sam walked straight inside, turned and then launched his assault on his brother.

"Dean, I called three times last night! You need to start picking up your phone, this is getting ridiculous." Sam stopped and looked at the living room. He saw the empty bottle of scotch lying on the floor and then looked back at Dean. His eyes softened this time and Dean immediately drew back. He didn't want to hear anymore of the sympathy, it hurt more than when Sam was shouting at him. At least in his anger, Sam was telling Dean things that Dean wanted to tell himself. He knew that he had to get back to his normal life but he just didn't know how.

"Don't Sam. Don't look at me like that." Dean walked towards the kitchen in search of another bottle. He didn't find one. Great, that was all he needed. He ran a hand down his face and it came away wet. He had started crying. No. He couldn't cry. He couldn't let the tears out, it was exactly what he was trying to avoid. But it was too late. He felt his shoulders shake and a sob let itself through and suddenly he was an inconsolable wreck. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. He held onto Sam as the tears fell and continued to fall. He would allow himself this measure of comfort right now but as soon as the tears subsided, he would distance himself again.

Sam knew better than to say anything. He knew this was exactly what Dean needed, he needed to cry. Sam knew all too well that trying to repress the feeling of loss was the opposite of effective. He had learned the hard way the benefit of crying and maybe now Dean would see it. He would finally see that he could get better. There was no way he could recover from this but maybe he could get better.

It took a long time for the tears to lessen and Dean to let go of Sam. Dean felt exhausted and immensely dehydrated. He sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen island and wiped the last of the tears from his face. Sam handed him a glass of water and he took a sip. He was suddenly surprised by the taste in his mouth. It was foul. He emptied the glass and stood up.

"I'm going to brush my teeth." Sam smiled as his eyes followed Dean to the bathroom. Yes, he knew Dean would be okay. Maybe not now, but some day.

A few days later Dean opened the door to his bedroom. He hadn't been able to sleep in the bed, he'd been using the couch instead, so he had hardly entered this room in the last two months. His eyes were immediately drawn to the nightstand on Cas' side of the bed. On it lay a book about modern artists and a notebook. He looked at the walls and his eyes drank in the sight of Cas' paintings, especially the one above the bed. "A self portrait" Cas had called it. Dean smiled fondly as he remembered the day Cas had presented it to him. It depicted a single face, the right half saw Castiel's scruffy, black hair; a bright blue eye and half a smiling mouth. The left half saw Dean's styled blond hair, a dark green eye and half a smirk.

Dean opened the wardrobe and ran his hand across some of Cas' hanging shirts. He came to an old scruffy one and when he removed it, he recognised it as the shirt Cas wore when he painted. He saw the smudges of charcoal and ink and the splatters of multi-coloured paint. He took it off the hanger and put it on and then laid down on the bed. He closed his eyes and started to drift off, sober for the first time in god knows how long.

It was over dinner that Dean struck up the conversation with Sam. He had been thinking this over for a week now and decided it was definitely what he wanted to do.

"Sam, I need your help with something." he started tentatively.

"Shoot." Sam replied, taking another huge forkful of his spaghetti.

"I want to start a charity. You know, in Cas' name." Dean said, staring down at his plate.

"Huh. I think that's a good idea." Sam said through his mouthful.

"You think? I have a few ideas..." Dean trailed off. He had been inspired by Cas' passion for his work, his paintings and his writing. He wanted to help inspire others who were passionate about it, even if he didn't really understand it himself, while simultaneously raising awareness of the condition that had claimed Cas' life. He had written down all of his ideas and now he was showing them to Sam. Sam nodded as he read some of them and gave Dean an idea of what he would have to do to set up a registered charity. He had even photographed all of Cas' paintings and tried to get some of the art galleries and museums in the city to take notice.

It was a few months later when Dean realised just how far he had come. He was at the opening of the exhibition of Castiel's work in a small art gallery when he was approached by a smart looking woman in a business suit.

"These are very impressive. Are you the artist?" She asked. Dean felt like asking her if she was in the right place as she obviously had no idea what this entire exhibition was about. But he didn't.

"No. These were all done by my partner." Dean replied in a strained voice.

"Oh, is this him?" She asked pointing to the "self portrait", only included after a lot of persuasion from Sam. Dean felt his bedroom wasn't right without it hanging above the bed.

"Yes. That's him." Dean smiled as he answered. As much as this lady's ignorance had annoyed him at first, he was always pleased to talk about Cas' talent.

"Oh, I would just love to meet him. Is he here?" The smile dropped from Dean's face.

"No. He's...he's no longer with us." Dean replied and looked away.

"Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." She seemed very sincere in her apology and Dean couldn't stay mad at her.

"It's...it's okay." He waved it off. "Um, it's kind of the only reason I'm here. I don't know anything about this stuff, it was his thing. But I'd be grateful if you could make a donation on your way out. It's all explained in the info book."

The info book hadn't been Dean's idea. Of course, he wanted to let people know of his charity and all the work he had done but he sometimes felt like he was bragging. Today, however, as he looked at all the people who were admiring Cas' work and pointing out their favourites to others, he couldn't help but feel proud of not only Castiel but himself as well. He didn't think he would come this far. He had conceded many years ago that Cas was his better half due to his talent, unwavering loyalty and complete selflessness. But now he was trying as hard as he could to fill Cas' shoes, to make him proud.

That night, Dean prayed for the first time. He asked Cas to please notice everything he was doing and how far he had come from the nights he used to spend drunk on the couch. Dean had never been religious. He had never believed in God or Heaven or Hell. But he just knew that Cas couldn't just be gone. He knew that there was more to him that just a body that could be claimed by something as pathetic as disease. He knew that Cas had a vibrant spirit, a soul that could never be destroyed. He prayed because he knew that Cas couldn't be anywhere other than Heaven now.


End file.
